


Time And Hearts Will Wear Us Thin

by thelordofstarsanddreams



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Engagement, F/M, Heavy Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Pining, Sex, Star-crossed, THESE TWO IDIOTS ARE SO IN LOVE, fuck to forget
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 08:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelordofstarsanddreams/pseuds/thelordofstarsanddreams
Summary: The man beneath her had no name, or at least, not one that Zoya cared to remember.It had been a considerable time since she'd taken a lover, even for a night. Between her duties as a General, a teacher and a tamer of the King's beast, both her days and nights were otherwise occupied.However, things had changed since they had returned from keeping company with the Saints.





	Time And Hearts Will Wear Us Thin

**Author's Note:**

> So, upon finishing King of Scars, I have been truly broken and also have been made into utter Zoyalai trash because they may just be some of the greatest characters ever written. Anyway, it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t immediately want to write some angsty and feelsy fic. Set after the ending of the book, a few months down the line with Nikolai’s royal engagement continuing and Zoya’s feelings for him going no where, she tries to distract herself. Please leave kudos/comment if you like so I can maybe write more.

The man beneath her had no name, or at least, not one that Zoya cared to remember.   
  
It had been a considerable time since she'd taken a lover, even for a night. Between her duties as a General, a teacher and a tamer of the King's beast, both her days and nights were otherwise occupied.   
  
However, things had changed since they had returned from keeping company with the Saints.   
  
With Nikolai's demon seemingly at bay and his engagement to the Shu Princess the talk of every land, Zoya had taken a necessary step away from the young King. Their once steady routine slipping away, piece by piece.   
  
After two weeks still in chains, even without Genya's sleeping draught, it became apparent that the beast wasn't intending to make an appearance. So, Nikolai had gone without the shackles. Meaning he no longer required Zoya to lock him up at night or free him when the sun rose again.   
  
The King took breakfast with his new fiancée, held council and meetings with visiting delegates, showed off his soon to be Queen at various parties, everything that was expected of the monarch and then some.   
  
They no longer ate breakfast together. Their meetings were few and far between, often among the Triumvirate or at council. Zoya stood by as a respectful General. His second in Command. Protector of both Nikolai and Ravka.  
  
_How you ache for what is yours._  
  
Juris' voice was often unwelcome. A low growl in the back of her mind, flooding her with the truths she would not acknowledge.   
  
_Nikolai belongs to Ravka. He is my King. I ache for nothing more than the strength of his reign._  
  
How many times had those words been whispered within her own mind, hoping she might believe the lie if it were repeated often enough? It didn’t dull the twist in her stomach when the Shu Princess would take Nikolai’s arm or when he would offer her that sun splitting smile, radiating the kind of charm and beauty that noble women would risk drowning themselves for.

 

Jealousy. Longing. These were traits of foolish girls. And Zoya Nazyalensky did not pine.

 

Another week brought another party.

 

Genya was in her element, each gala grander than the last. Though, knowing her friend, the organising of events was a welcome distraction. Keeping her mind focused on something linear she had control over. Letting her mind stray away from the loss of Isaak and the presence of the creature in shackles within the bowels of the palace.

 

The return of the Darkling remained a secret. And would do so until they could figure out how to rid Nikolai of the lingering darkness within him. Once that blackness had been banished, Zoya would take every pleasure in slowly killing her once mentor.

 

The finishing blow belonged to her.

 

The party had been thrown in honour of the First and Second army. A night for higher ranking soldiers and generals to let their hair down and meet their new Queen. Grisha and otkazat'sya mingled with one another, something Nikolai had insisted upon. This was a symbol of his reign, as it always had been. The unification of the First and Second armies.

 

 _‘Let them see that we are all the same after one too many glasses of kvas,’_ The King had insisted to the Triumvirate when he had approached with his plans for the evening.

Such logic never failed to be irritating.

 

As always, Zoya lingered at the edges of the grand ballroom, face a beautiful carving of solid stone, sapphire eyes darting from face to face. Curious gazes lingered on her, whispers spoken in quiet breaths, a mixture of awe and terror. It not something new to the Squaller. For most of her life she had known what it was for people to desire and fear her in the same breath.

 

Her attention was not theirs to have.

 

Nikolai stood surrounded by a handful of soldiers, some she recognised as men who had served with him during his time in the army. Toyla lingered half a foot away, the hulking Shu man hard to miss as he watched over the monarch and the soft smiling Princess Ehri Kir-Taban on his arm.

 

A political alliance he had called it. The exact thing Zoya had pushed him towards for months. So why did it leave such a bitter taste in her mouth?

 

_The ashes of a love realised too late._

The dragon’s murmur caused the frown to deepen on her beautiful features, silver eyes flashing for just a moment before the striking blue returned, tearing her gaze from the golden-haired Privateer and his gentle bride to be.

 

“General Nazyalensky?”

 

The voice had broken through her focus. Male. Laced with respect and just a hint of reluctance. Turning, she had been met by the presence of a young sergeant. Vaguely recognising him from the First Army. Dark hair, green eyes, strong jaw and thin lips. He’d told her his name. Zoya hadn’t been listening. Hadn’t cared.

 

“Speak.”

 

“Would you care to dance?”

 

Surprise surely flickered across her face, perfectly groomed brow raising as she met that unwavering stare. Either the man was drunk, stupid or both. No one ever approached her, never mind an otkazat'sya so far beneath her in rank.

 

Zoya had to admire his bravery.

 

“No,” It was the only answer she had for him. For anyone who wished to spin her around the room like a doll on parade. She would reserve that honour for the King’s fiancée.

 

Eyes drifted to the pair in question once more as the man before her spluttered and made his excuses to leave. Apparently, he hadn’t expected to be dismissed quite so quickly. Nikolai’s fingers lingered now on the small of Ehri’s back, laughter rumbling from the circle they stood within. Yes, the alliance was political, but perhaps more could blossom. If Nikolai was good at anything, it was making people fall in love with him. Even a reluctant Shu Princess who had originally intended to murder him.

 

“I’ll be returning to my quarters within the next ten minutes.”

 

The soldier stopped in his tracks, turning back to meet that cold, ocean blue stare. Zoya merely inclined her head towards the doors, the implication apparent. It was not the first time she’d done this though it had certainly been a while. There was no warmth. No shy and blushing maid who hoped to find affection and love in the arms of a man.

 

Zoya knew what she wanted. What she needed.

 

The soldier was in the hallway waiting when she finally left the ballroom, excusing herself to Genya under the pretence that she needed an early night. The woman hadn’t believed her but hadn’t pushed either. Like an obedient puppy, the otkazat'sya had followed her silently to her rooms, the very chambers that had once been the Darkling’s. Oh, how the man had sneered when he’d learned that she had taken up residence in what had once been his private quarters. Completely refurbished or not, he saw the humour in such action and made his mocking amusement known.

 

There was no one to witness her taking the man into her rooms but the guards who would not speak of it less they face her wrath.

 

The Stormwitch did not wish for softness. In this dance, there was no room for gentle kisses and caressing touches. In fact, Zoya had not permitted him to kiss her lips. As welcoming as they were, full and reddened by Genya’s tailoring, she would remind him of his place. That he did not deserve her. 

 

They had shed their clothes and fallen into the soft expanse of her bed.

 

The man was well built, a true solider. All hard muscles and rough skin, hands which had seen war and known weapons. Those fingers traced her skin, along her hips, cupping her breasts, worshipping her body like a temple he couldn’t quite believe he’d been permitted to be near.

 

It wasn’t enough.

 

The roaring in her head was louder, screaming, demanding.

 

_Give me more._

_Make me forget._

Zoya put him on his back, straddling his hips as she took him into her body. Hard and heavy within her. Fingers curled around the wooden frame at the head of the bed, granting her the leverage to work herself on him, deeper, faster.

 

No mewling whimpers or soft moans echoed from her even as the solider grunted and squirmed beneath her.

 

“Fuck me,” She hissed, vicious and commanding.

 

A ripple of hesitation radiated from the nameless man, the hands at her hips still gentle as if she were a summer peach that might bruise. But she was not sweet or soft. She was a lightning storm. She was fire. She was reckoning.

 

“I am not a fragile doll, otkazat'sya,” That word sent something through him. Zoya noted the slight flash in his eyes, the way his hands tightened at her hips. Good. If cruelty was the only way to get what she wanted from him, then so be it. “Fuck me like you’re worth something.”

 

The slight growl that rattled from her lover traced down her spine, and in a blink, she was on her back. Lips were on her neck, teeth claiming pale skin, fingers digging into the skin of her thigh hard enough to bruise.

 

_More. More. Make me forget._

Nails dragged along the expanse of his back, down to dig into the firm skin of his backside, encouraging each harsh thrust of his hips.

 

In the end, it wasn’t earth shattering.

 

Zoya’s own hand had slipped between them, finding the slick bundle of nerves and coaxing herself into her climax around him. For a few moments there was nothing. Nothing but pleasure. Blissful emptiness.

 

Slipping him from her, the woman finished him with her hand, letting him spill across her skin.

 

Already disappointment was creeping in. It never lasted. Those seconds where her mind emptied, and her body took over.

 

_Zoya of the lost city. Zoya the forgotten. Zoya the lonely._

The solider was panting into the skin of her neck, emptiness giving way to irritation as she shoved him away from her. A purpose served.

 

Slipping from the bed onto slightly unsteady legs, Zoya took a moment to clean herself from the essence of him before tugging her soft robe on, tying it at the waist as she turned to face him. “Get dressed and get out,” It was if she were dismissing a student who had wasted her time on an unnecessary problem.

 

The man was sliding on his boots when the knock came at the door.

 

Of all people, she had expected to see Genya on the other side of the door. Not Nikolai.

 

The King stood before her in all his finery, an expectant expression on chiselled features. “Genya said you weren’t feeling well.”

 

That sounded like the tailor. Always needing an excuse.

 

“I’m fine,” Zoya murmured dismissively, noting those hazel eyes studying her wearily. Black hair slightly dishevelled, blossoming bruises at the dip of her neck. Behind her, she heard the rustle of a jacket and footsteps.

 

“Moi soverennyi,” The slight shock in the soldier’s voice was apparent and the Squaller had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, stepping back to open the door a little further, refusing to meet Nikolai’s gaze even as he put two and two together.

 

“Andrei,” Of course, it would so like him to know the man by name when even she had forgotten it long before she’d bedded him.

 

“Get out,” Zoya snapped, voice as sharp as a cracking whip, the young man flinching, half bowing before scurrying from the room. Now she looked to her King, meeting his hazel stare. “What?”

 

“I never took you as having a taste for otkazat'sya soldiers.”

 

“They have their uses.”

 

There was a flash of something in those eyes of his. Was it hurt? Anger? She couldn’t be certain. All she knew was that forgetting him was made harder when he showed up at the threshold of her door.

 

“Zoya-“

 

“You shouldn’t be here. The party is still going, and people will question where you have gone. Especially if they learn you are here. And I would hate to upset your fiancée,” The bitterness in her tone was undeniable. Words more vicious than she had ever intended. They had been rumoured lovers in the past when they had been dealing with his beastly side, and a busy court loved the gossip which came with an affair. Even if that were not the case.

 

“Of course, I just, wanted to make sure you were okay,” He was hesitating. Zoya could feel it radiating from him. But why?

 

“More than okay,” The smugness was forced into her voice, false words with a pretty face, wanting to hurt him, wanting the reaction.

 

_Show me you care._

_Show me you want me._

_Please._

Nikolai merely smiled. That wide, boyish grin. “Well, try not to scare the soldiers too much, Zoya, dear, we do need them able to walk,” There was laughter in his voice, though she did not answer it with her own. The ache began to paw within her chest again. Raw and bleeding. A wound she could not heal.

 

“Yes, your Highness,” She tucked her robe tighter around herself, one hand straying to the door. “Goodnight,” If Nikolai made to stop her, she didn’t notice. Closing the door over and locking it with a lingering crack.

 

And he had opened his mouth to speak. To stop her. To reach out and say something. But the door had shut and Zoya’s point had been made. Yet Nikolai couldn’t bring himself to move. Remaining there, outside her door, for just a few seconds more. Fingers brushing heavy wood, as he ushered a sigh. “Goodnight Zoya.”

 

Whatever emptiness the Squaller had chased from her bed with the company of the solider, returned like a wave, all consuming. Terrifying. An endless pit which now ran alongside her grief. Eternal and choking.

 

_Little Witch, you can lie to him, but you cannot lie to yourself._

“Shut up,” Zoya snarled into the darkness of her room, collapsing down onto her bed, feeling the tightness in her throat, the betraying sting of threatening tears at her eyes. She would cry for no man. King or not.  

 

_You cannot make them love you._

_You cannot make him love you._

The Grisha whose beauty could start wars. The Witch who men would throw down their lives for. A living piece of priceless art.

 

Desired. Worshipped.

 

Alone.

Left with an aching heart, poisoned with a love she could never have.

**Author's Note:**

> I am 100% here for anything and everything Zoya does, haters to the far far back.


End file.
